


Impetus

by thedevianthunter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Android, Established Relationship, F/M, Funerals, M/M, Suicide, Violent Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Violent!Markus, allen and perkins are friends, and now here we are, basically i did suicidal!connor and violent revolution, in the same playthru, machine!Connor, unsuccessful revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 10:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevianthunter/pseuds/thedevianthunter
Summary: You stop Connor from murdering your husband on the Hart Plaza rooftop.





	Impetus

**Author's Note:**

> Had to tag this as AU because in this universe, the rifle Connor tantrum throws to the ground doesn't break lmfao.

His eyes haunt you the most.

They had been so brilliantly alive, shining, and he had been eager to please, focused solely on completing his mission. You hadn’t seen the glowing circle on his temple right away, so it hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t… alive. All you saw was a lively detective who wanted to prove himself as a worthy member of the DPD.

You shudder when you remember how you’d snapped at Gavin for punching him. How you’d helped him up and asked if he was okay, and how enthusiastic he had been to discuss the latest deviant case with you.

Real and pleasant in front of you, it was easy to believe that he was human.

But he’s not.

He never was.

And now staring into his lifeless brown eyes, which once looked at you with so much intensity after he'd successfully saved a little girl from a hostile deviant, you realize that you were a fool to think he ever _was_.

You approach him— _it_?—cautiously, your trembling hands unsteadily holding your pistol in front of you. He doesn’t move, the shock in his face permanent and stained blue from the bullet expertly lodged between his eyes.

When you’re convinced that he’s not suddenly going to spring back to life and charge you like he had so many of your colleagues, you holster your gun and surge into the arms of your stunned husband.

Captain Allen grunts in pain when your throw yourself against his chest, and you hop back with several apologies spewing from your lips.

He’d just gotten _shot_ , after all.

“I’m fine,” he assures you evenly, patting his chest as if to remind you that he’s armed to the teeth, his entire body practically covered in light armor. “It’s gonna bruise like fuck, though.”

“Dave,” you whisper weakly, as your mind replays the scene you’ve just witnessed again and _again_ —

Connor, the self-proclaimed “Deviant Hunter,” sparring with your husband and three other SWAT operatives, his movements cold and precise, his motives blindly loyal to the task at hand. Connor, struggling in your husband’s headlock, shooting at him desperately over his shoulders, a sight that had you running towards them with only a single thought, one you would have never guessed would ever cross your mind:

_Kill the fucking android._

The second Connor shot through himself to injure your husband—your better half, the _love_ of your life and the only one who stood by even when he shouldn’t have—you took your own.

And now he’s dead—no, _destroyed_ , because he isn’t alive, never has been, and never will be. 

At least, not while you are.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a pair of arms engulf you in a tight embrace, and you look up with a start, your vision blurred with tears. A pair of gloved hands cup your cheeks and Allen’s face comes into view.

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmurs before pressing his lips softly against yours. A broken sob is ripped from your throat but he simply shushes you. When you only cry harder, he laughs gently, holding you close and carefully rubbing your back.

You bury your face in his neck, soaking it with tears. Allen doesn’t mind. He never does.

You’re only pulled back to reality when you hear someone inform Allen that the other operatives have successfully been evacuated and are now being transported to the nearest hospital. Stunned, you push yourself from Allen and straighten up.

You didn't even bother to check the other guys.

Guilt floods your system as you stumble over your words to ask, “Are they okay?”

And with snow dusting the expanse of dark gear encasing his body, fresh scratches and drops of blood on his face from this recent scuffle, Captain Allen, a man who had just escaped the clutches of death by a mere thread, only smiles at you. His light blue eyes soften, the warmth on his face almost inappropriate in such a bleak scene, up here on the rooftop of some building in Hart Plaza in the midst of a chaotic revolution.

“Everything’s fine. Thanks to you, nobody died.”

“But you—”

“I fucked up a little there, yeah,” Allen admits almost bitterly, but the smile on his face remains. “Good thing I married the best shot in the force though, eh?”

“I’m not even,” you mumble bashfully, the corners of your lips finally turning upwards. Your husband sees this and grins, pulling you into his arms again.

“There’s the smile I was looking for,” he whispers into your ear, and you have to shut your eyes to bury the tears before they fall.

That plan goes out the window, however, when Allen suddenly breathes out, “Thank you for saving me, sweetheart.”

You don’t think you’ve ever cried this much in one sitting.

* * *

The sight of ambulances and SWAT vans greets you when you exit the building, and Allen practically drags you over to the paramedics despite your protests that you’re perfectly _fine_ , unlike him.

Naturally, he ignores you and insists the EMTs tend to you before even looking at him. Of course, you respond by informing the paramedics that your husband had just gotten shot and the two immediately turn their attention to him instead, much to his annoyance.

As they get to work, you let your gaze wander from the handful of officers guarding the perimeter to the bodies of deactivated androids that line the empty streets.

On the drive over, you saw quite a few patrols gunning down wayward deviants and you remember shuddering at the sight of the humanlike machines falling face-first into the snow.

Which reminds you…

“Lieutenant Anderson is dead,” you inform Allen hollowly. You find yourself staring determinedly at one of the vans, your eyes prickling once again as you recall the horrific scene you were called to investigate the previous night. You hadn’t slept a wink since, and you honestly doubt you’re going to be able to for the next few days. “Shot himself last night.”

In your periphery, you see Allen’s shoulders slump as he mutters, “Fuck it all.”

“Connor left him a message. That’s how I knew to find him here.”

“Damn good thing, too, or we’d all be dead.”

When you finally turn to look at your husband, he’s a little taken aback at the fire in your eyes. “Did Connor kill the leader?” 

Allen furrows his brows. “No. It tried to, though. We stopped it."

You clench your fists. “Why?”

The simple question catches Allen off-guard, his mouth slack as he regards your furious expression. “I was told to apprehend any android—”

“Dave, this could’ve ended right _there_. This shit-show of a revolution—if you’d just _let_ him—”

“ _My_ orders were specifically to detain any android I find,” Allen snaps, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice that betrays his true convictions.

It's barely there, but you quickly jump at the opportunity. “What if we went through with it?”

“ _What?_ ”

“David. Hear me out. You’re right. I should’ve listened to you when you first said it but…” You shake your head. You were so certain that you were on the right side. You wanted so _badly_ to believe that these androids, machines that had suddenly regained their autonomy, had a right to do so, because maybe, just maybe, they were truly _alive_.

But then…

They resorted to violence. Markus murdered dozens of officers without any hesitation. That could have easily been _your_ husband gunned down by a bunch of deviants.  
  
Tonight, it almost was.

If this continues, then who knows what’s going to happen? What if you actually lose David? Your friends?

What if _you_ get killed by those you wasted so much effort trying to defend?

This has to end _now_.

You grit your teeth and turn to Allen, firmly grasping his shoulders. You stare at him with an intensity tantamount to that in Connor’s eyes before he attempted to kill your husband, and your insides burn with rage, engendering a desire to see CyberLife torched to the fucking ground. “ _Please_ , Dave. Let me take the shot."

He recoils a little in shock, but you can already see his resolve crumbling. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“The rifle is still up on the roof, right?”

“You can’t be serious.”

You scoff, grabbing his collar and tugging him towards you until your faces are only an inch apart. His eyes widen and you hear his breath hitch. “Make the call.”

Just to be cheeky, you gently peck his lips before lightly shoving him back. The look he gives you is one he normally reserves for the bedroom and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head.

To your surprise, he suddenly pulls his phone out, holding your gaze as he waits for an answer. 

And then…

“Richard? It’s Dave.”

* * *

The rain is heavy today, too.

It hasn’t snowed since the day the androids were all but decimated in their own revolution, the single bullet you shot through Markus’s head the turning point that everyone was waiting for. With just that one shot, you sealed the fate of every single android in the nation.

And you’re surprisingly okay with it.

There are things in this world that aren’t meant to be. There are advancements in technology that really should be left alone, locked away for a species less selfish and proud than human beings. People need to understand that you just can’t _create_ a new form of life and expect to be able to control it.

It won’t be long until CyberLife regains its credibility, until geniuses like Elijah Kamski come forward to present more damning forms of technology that will inexorably delude the public once more.

One day, androids will rise again, ready to finish a war that humans are doomed to lose.

Around you, people begin to throw flowers into Hank Anderson’s grave. You blink the tears from your eyes before tossing in the carnations you brought.

Allen shifts the umbrella to his other hand so he can lace your fingers together. You close your eyes and lean against him as the priest says a few final words.

You hope Hank has finally found peace.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little different from most of cutesy one-shots with daddy I tend to write haha. Ultimately I just don't trust that people will know how to behave if androids are created one day, and I can only hope nobody actually attempts to make it happen. 
> 
> Also suicidal!Connor is a dick and I would not hesitate to kill him.


End file.
